Of Seaweed Brains and Wise Girls
by guacamole lover
Summary: They met online at age six. For a decade, they've been messaging on Tumblr with the pen names Wise Girl and Seaweed Brain. There are only two rules: don't share your location and don't share your name. Everything else is fair game—dislikes, obsessions, stupid crushes, etc. Now sixteen, Annabeth is moving to NYC, where she clashes repeatedly with a boy who feels uncannily familiar.
1. Chapter 1

_**Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _I've decided that I detest life. I mean, it's one thing to find out your mom's having an affair, watch your sobbing father sign the divorce papers, and then get told you're moving to gods-know-where, but on your sweet sixteen? That's just cruel._

 _Life sucks._

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _That has got to be the most depressing thing I've ever read. And seeing as I've been writing to you for almost ten years, that's saying something. (No offense. The world needs pessimists, right?)_

 _I've already told you about my ex stepdad and his mountain of faults as a human and husband alike, so you know I can relate. Life's shitty._

 _I am not a psychiatrist, just a humble junior trying to make it through high school, but my medical advice would be to buy a tub of ice cream and indulge._

 _Happy birthday._

 _-Seaweed Brain._

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _Though I seriously doubt you have ever been humble, I've taken your advice. About halfway through the carton, I snapped and started flinging spoonfuls of 'Blair's Best Choco Cream' at a picture of my mom—which, coincidentally, was taken out of its custom waterproof frame and tacked to the wall. She looked like she swallowed a lemon when she came in a few minutes ago. I have no regrets._

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _You are my personal hero._

 _-Seaweed Brain_

 _P.S. For the record, I was humble once. I would be happy to brag about that time of my life if you want._

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _I'm sitting on an airplane in economy class—thanks to my mom refusing to pay for nicer tickets—and waiting for take off. Goodbye school, goodbye friends, goodbye California (yes, I am breaking our agreement to not reveal where we live, but as it's no longer home, it doesn't matter anymore)._

 _Cheers._

 _-Wise Girl_

Annabeth snapped her laptop shut. She had been tempted not to bring the computer—it being a birthday gift from her mom—but had eventually packed it, knowing that it was going to be her only luxury for a long time.

Beside her, Frederick Chase gave a slightly hopeful, slightly tired smile. It was as if he thought he could hide all the heartbreak and pain from his daughter by lifting the corners of his mouth.

She turned away from him and slipped her earbuds in, upping the volume until Dan Reynolds belting voice blocked out the fellow passengers meaningless chatter, their shuffling bodies and bags, and the small, choked sob that was released from her father's throat just before the plane took off.

* * *

The apartment was roughly the size of her bedroom back home.

Annabeth stood in the doorway and stared at the pitiful layout: a kitchenette that held a microwave, toaster, and rusting sink; two doors that led to bedrooms slightly bigger than her old queen sized bed; a living room that wouldn't fit two couches; a bathroom with grimy tiles and mold growing in the sink.

"It's a pretty great find, isn't it?" Frederick said in a falsely cheerful voice. "Right in the middle of the big city. That's where you find the best neighbors."

She decided not to mention the trio of men whose eyes had been fixed on her chest as they entered their building.

"I'll make some dinner," he said, his voice still high and fake. "Why don't you go set up your room?"

There wasn't much setting up to be done. She hadn't been able to bring most of her stuff from California, so all she had to do was put her box of clothes in the corner and drop a few blankets on the bare floor. Her father had promised to buy a cheap bed on the way, but since they were already here and she could hear him crying quietly, she knew it wasn't happening.

Instead of listening to her father's muffled sobs, Annabeth put her earbuds in again and opened her laptop. There were no new messages from Seaweed Brain on Tumblr. Since she had nothing else to do, she decided to go through his feed.

She had known Seaweed Brain for ten years, and so she wasn't surprised by the flood of reblogged marine animals. Most of them were weird endangered creatures that even a marine biologist would be hard pressed to name, but she was able to recognize a couple varieties of sharks he had told her about.

His other posts were also familiar. Sprinkled in between animals like the vampire squid and the immortal jellyfish were sarcastic one liners, pictures of random beaches, the rare skateboarding gif, and an occasional word entry.

She stopped at one near the top, posted just that morning.

 **When in doubt, buy ice cream. A friend once told me that both eating and throwing 'Blair's Best Choco Cream' is a very reliable coping method.**

Annabeth's lips twitched, but she wasn't able to form a smile. She clicked the heart icon and quickly typed up a comment.

 **Seaweed Brain is 100% correct. You will be at risk of gaining five pounds—like I did—but the satisfaction is worth it.**

"Annabeth!" Frederick called. "Dinner's ready!"

Closing her laptop, she fought back the pit of hard anger that formed at her father's fake, cheerful voice. Anger wouldn't be productive. Not here, not now. Still, when she saw what he had waiting on two paper plates, she had to fight back a biting retort.

Since they had no oven, her father's genius plan had been to microwave frozen pizza. The crust had the taste and texture of sandpaper and the middle was still frozen solid.

"I think we'll be happy here," Frederick said around a mouthful of frozen pepperoni. "It was really nice of your mom to help us find this place."

Annabeth gave him an incredulous look.

He tried to backpedal. "Okay, so it's a bit small, but she really did her best with our budget—"

"Stop!" Annabeth said. "Are you even listening to yourself? It's pathetic!"

His eyes were filling with tears again. "Annabeth—"

"No. She abandoned us. She cheated on you and took the house and money and left us with _nothing._ Just look around! There's not even—AHH!" Annabeth shrieked as a small, furry creature ran across her plate of pizza. She scrambled to her feet and stumbled backward.

Frederick lunged for the mouse, but it was already scurrying across the floor, dragging half a crust behind it. It disappeared into a hole in the wall.

They stared in shocked silence at the hole for several long moments before he said, "Well...you always did want to have a pet."

She rounded on him. "You...I…argh!" She threw her hands in the air and stomped to her bedroom, making sure to slam the door behind her. She pressed her back against the wall, slid to the floor, and hugged her knees to her chest. It was only after she heard his bedroom door close softly that she allowed a single tear to slip out.

Just one, she told herself. Just one tear.

But then another came. And another. And another, until she was covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the sobs.

It was so unfair. Her mom being a freaking slut, her dad acting like everything was sunshine and roses, being moved across the country and forced to share a home with rodents.

Her laptop chimed.

Wiping her nose with her sleeve, Annabeth scooted toward the laptop and opened the message notification.

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _Five pounds, huh? I am in awe of your ice cream eating skills._

 _-Seaweed Brain._

She gave a shaky laugh. How did he always know the right thing to say? Pulling the laptop onto her lap, she typed a response.

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _Okay, maybe it wasn't a whole five pounds, but I still feel heavier. Or maybe it's just the added weight of knowing a pizza stealing mouse is still hanging around. Don't worry, though. The ten pounds I cried off should help balance it out._

 _-Wise Girl_

Annabeth never admitted about crying to anyone but him. Usually it made her feel weak for others to know she had finally broken down, but it wasn't like that with him. Maybe it was because they only communicated through a screen. Or maybe it was just him.

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _I honestly don't know what to say to that, so here:_

Underneath was a gif from the old cartoon Tom and Jerry—one of her favorites, as he well knew—with Jerry being chased across a table laden with food.

 _And for the record, having a mouse steal your food is a perfectly acceptable reason to cry. That, and moving after your parents divorce. ;)_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

Annabeth closed her laptop and watched as the blue icon slowly dimmed to nothing. "Thanks, Seaweed Brain," she whispered.

Curling up under a blanket, her back against the cold floor, she took comfort in knowing that somewhere, lying under the same sky, was a boy who cared.


	2. Chapter 2:

Annabeth pretended not to see her father's red eyes the next morning. Hers were just as bad. Not only from crying, but also from the sleepless night spent tossing and turning on the floor, too cold and terrified of rodents chewing her toes to fall asleep.

She was just glad they weren't spiders.

"I made toast," Frederick said, offering a plate with two very burnt pieces of bread.

"Thanks," Annabeth mumbled. She accepted it without looking him in the eye; it was easier than seeing how dry and swollen they were.

"I'm going to be gone this afternoon," he said, shuffling around to restack a pile of boxes. "I'm hoping there's room for another history teacher in New York City." His upbeat voice was back. "Don't worry, though. Your high school already turned me down. You won't have to suffer the embarrassment of having your parent teach a class."

Annabeth felt a surge of pity and guilt. In California, he had taught at a reputable college—yes, he had worked late into the evenings and usually on weekends as well, but it was because he loved his job. Now he was scrounging for scraps. He hadn't asked for this. He had been uprooted just like she had, but he was trying to stay strong.

She was the only one acting like a spoiled brat.

"Dad—" Annabeth started. He looked up, a hopeful expression on his face. "I...um...the thing is…" she stammered, her nerve failing her by the second. "...there's no butter on this toast," she finished awkwardly.

"Oh." His face fell. "Does toast usually have butter?"

"No," Annabeth said quickly. "No, it's fine." She took a bite of the sandpaper textured toast, bit back a wince, and spewed crumbs as she said, "It tastes great."

Frederick grinned. "Good. That's good." He chuckled. "Things are looking up, Annabeth. First toast and then the world!" He began humming, 'The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow' as he packed their lunches.

Annabeth couldn't bring herself to wipe the hopeful smile off his face.

* * *

The school was a tall brick building surrounded by a chain link fence. The asphalt outside the building was rocky and tough. It looked like a warzone made of riddled potholes, broken chunks of rock, and lines of dried tar that snaked across the surface.

Annabeth didn't envy whoever fell on it. Stitches could only do so much— a fall on this surface would shred the skin like confetti.

Even though it was still early, kids were already milling around in small clusters: talking, engaging in PDA, or—for some weird reason—tying small pieces of ribbon to the fence.

Many of the kids gave her odd looks as she passed, which she unfortunately chalked down to her outfit.

Too angry and depressed to think right, Annabeth had foolishly packed clothes that would have been comfortable in California's sweltering autumn. Here, in the frigid temperatures of New York City's October, this proved to be problematic.

She was stuck wearing clothes that weren't ideal: short shorts, a gray tank top, and socks that ended just above her sneakers. They did nothing to protect her from the icy wind that sliced through her exposed skin like a knife, attacking the nerves with more efficiency than a torture rack ever could.

Her teeth were chattering by the time she reached the stairs. Her hands were shoved in her armpits in a weak attempt to keep them warm. She knew she looked ridiculous, but all she cared about was preserving what little body heat she had left.

A large group of students blocked the stairs. They were gathered around a boy who was showing off tricks with his skateboard. He was leanly muscular—which must have been useful, considering he doing a handstand on his skateboard—with dark hair and an olive complexion. Grasping the edge of the board, he flipped back, twisted midair, and landed on his feet. The crowd broke into a stampede of wild applause and cheers.

 _Showoff,_ Annabeth thought, rolling her eyes and pushing through the crowd. Why would anyone do skateboard tricks on such a rocky surface? He would probably end up falling, break his neck, and then cause a mass panic that would—

 _Thunk._

Annabeth's ribs exploded with pain as an elbow—whether accidental or not—smashed into her right side. She gasped, stumbled sideways from the force of the hit, tripped, and fell straight backward toward the open circle of asphalt.

Even the damn concrete was out to get her.

Annabeth expected to slam into the unforgiving ground. She expected to be picking chunks of rock out of her broken skin for weeks, nursing her bruised or snapped bones on the floor of their dingy apartment and cursing whoever had knocked into her.

What she didn't expect was to be jerked to a stop.

The air was forced from her lungs. For several terrifying seconds she struggled the breathe. Panic engulfed her as her lungs burned and black rimmed her vision. Then, just when she thought she would pass out from lack of oxygen, two sea green eyes appeared above her, dark and worried.

She inhaled sharply and air filled her lungs.

He was standing behind her, hands gripping underneath her arms, muscles contracted to hold her up. For a moment, all she could do was stare up at him, her shocked face reflected in his eyes.

Then he grinned and said, "Hi," as if it were perfectly natural to catch falling blondes on a whim, and as if she wasn't staring at him and having thoughts like, _What the hell he looks like a Greek god,_ and _When the hell did a Greek god decide to show up?_ and _where the hell are these very Greek and hormonal thoughts coming from?_ and _WHY THE HELL AM I STILL STARING AT HIM?_

Some distant part of her mind connected this boy with the one she had seen on the skateboard. And another not so distant part connected the scattered laughter in the crowd to her ungraceful plummet.

Face burning, she scrambled to her feet.

The crowd broke into applause again, accompanied by several wolf whistles.

Her ribs flared with pain. She winced, bending over and pressing her hand to her side.

"You okay?" the boy asked. He put a hand on her shoulder, as if he thought she were too weak to stand by herself.

"I…" Annabeth stammered. What had she even done to get in this situation? She took in the scene: teenagers surrounding them—herself and a stranger gripping her arm—who were laughing, cheering, or recording with their phones.

Her gaze landed on a girl standing behind the boy. She stood apart from the crowd, arms folded, perfect ringlets swept over one shoulder, round eyes framed with pink eyeliner. She tilted her head. A sneer curled her lip as she locked eyes with Annabeth.

Her mouth formed one word: _Bitch._

It was the same word her mother had flung at Annabeth—right after she found the ruined picture.

 _Bitch._

"I'm fine," Annabeth said hashly. She shoved herself away from the boy. Her limbs were shaking. Her vision swam, and for a moment his sea green eyes were replaced with the cold, steel gray of her mother's. "Just stay away from me!" she snapped.

His eyes widened. "Hey, I was only trying to help."

The crowd was laughing again.

Something was blurring Annabeth's vision. Perhaps it was her eyes watering from the cold. It had to be that. Blinking back the moisture, she rushed up the stairs, leaving behind the bewildered boy and the memory of an insult flung by a mother who didn't want her.

* * *

By first period, everyone in school knew Annabeth's name.

By second, a video was released on YouTube labeled: _Blonde Snob Screams at Swim Team Captain Percy Jackson._

During break, Annabeth received dozens of judgemental looks, scowls, and passing comments about her 'snobby personality' and outfit—which apparently violated the dress code in so many ways that ' _the principal would kick her to Queens'_ for showing that much skin.

It took all of Annabeth's self control to restrain from kicking their asses to Queens.

* * *

Annabeth dragged herself to lunch with all the enthusiasm of a woman bound for the electric chair. She was tired, irritated, hungry, and sick of the spreading rumours.

And her ribs.

After three hours, the pain had abated somewhat, but it still left behind a dull ache that flared whenever she breathed too deeply or moved too fast. She hoped they were only bruised; even if they were broken, they couldn't afford a doctor. She would just have to deal with the pain.

Annabeth cursed in Greek as she gently lowered herself into a empty table, keeping her breathing shallow to avoid hurting her ribs. Already, she could see the half glances and hear the hum of critical comments.

She wasn't surprised by the attention. She was dressed for a day on the beach, her eyes had large bags under them from a sleepless night, and she had yelled at Percy Jackson—who, just her luck, was Mr. Popularity and had ninety percent of the school fawning over him.

Yup. This day was going great.

There were other new kids. It was a big city, after all. But they were all fitting in fine. Making friends. Being accepted. There weren't rumours circulating that they were a prostitute sent to seduce boys with their skimpy clothes and long legs.

Hint: the rumour was about her.

Lunch was halfway over when someone approached her table. Annabeth immediately recognized her as the girl from outside—the one who had called her a bitch.

Annabeth's sandwich was slowly pulverized in her tightening fist.

The Japanese girl was tall, svelte, and beautiful—and she walked like she knew it. She sauntered up to Annabeth with all the confidence of a model walking down her personal runway.

"Hello, darling," she said, placing her hands on Annabeth's shoulders and kissing her cheek.

Annabeth quickly pulled away from the girl, who blinked in fake astonishment. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "Do you not like people touching you? I should have guessed." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, which looked harder than diamond.

"What do you want?" Annabeth said bluntly.

The girl held out a hand, her hot pink nails practically glowing against her pale skin. "Drew Tanaka," she said. "Pleased to meet you."

Annabeth didn't move.

Drew shook her head sadly. "How rude. I only came here to give some advice." Her voice was loud enough that it carried to the neighboring tables. "Last I checked, it wasn't sunny with a side of slutty."

The surrounding tables rippled with laughter. There were some who gave Annabeth's sympathetic looks, or who ignored the comment and continued with their lunch, but everyone else was willing to judge Annabeth by her clothing and a video on YouTube.

Blood roared in Annabeth's head. "What did you say?" she growled.

The logical part of her brain told her to shut up, to simply ignore Drew and the hateful comment. Nothing good would come if she got angry. She had to stay focused and calm.

And then there was the part of her brain that told her to introduce Drew's perfect nails to a meat grinder.

She still wasn't sure which part would win.

Drew blinked, throwing off bits of pink light from her eyeliner. "I'm only trying to help, honey," she said. She leaned closer, her voice still loud enough that it carried to the nearby tables. "And just a tip, girl to girl: I know you're desperate for some action, but there's no need to be so obvious about it. Those shorts and spray tan won't do you any favors."

Annabeth snapped. She sprang to her feet, sent her chair skidding backward, and lunged at Drew.

At least, she tried to.

Her ribs spiked with pain. She let out a strangled yelp, fell off balance, and grasped the table's edge to keep herself from falling—again.

" _What is going on here?"_ an angry voice interjected.

A bony hand latched onto Annabeth's arm. She was yanked up roughly.

An old woman whose name tag read _Mrs. Dodds_ held Annabeth up. Her eyes were small and squinty, and her jacket smelled like a mixture of sweat, cats, and smoke. Annabeth immediately held her breath.

"Come on," Mrs. Dodds growled, pulling Annabeth after her.

"Let go of me!" Annabeth tried to squirm away, but the old bat's grip was too strong.

"I know what I saw!" Mrs. Dodds snapped. "Attacking innocent students, are we? And that outfit! Absolutely horrendous, the amount of skin you're showing."

Annabeth caught one last glimpse of Drew—her arms crossed, a hip jutting out, and a triumphant smile on her face—before she was dragged out of the cafeteria.

* * *

Percy Jackson was in the office.

His voice carried to the waiting room, where Mrs. Dodds had deposited her and told her to wait.

"Oh, come on!" Percy complained, his voice coming from around the corner Mrs. Dodds had just turned. Annabeth tilted her head, listening. "You can't do that, Mr. D!"

"I can do anything I want, Peter Johnson," came a second voice—Mr. D. His voice was older and sounded completely indifferent.

"My name's Percy Jackson."

"Yes, that's what I said, Patrick Jordan. Stop contradicting me."

"You can't shut down the swim team," Percy said. "What else will the pool be used for?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about drowning insolent teenagers?"

Percy made another sound of outrage, but he was cut off by Mr. D. "The facts are clear, Pierre: you don't have enough members to complete the team. And since you are too lazy to recruit—"

"I did recruit! You turned down all three dozen applications!"

"No excuses!" Mr. D said. "Unless you can find a suitable member, this team will be shut down in two weeks."

"But you won't accept anyone who tries to—"

"Ah, Miss Dodds," Mr. D interrupted. How may I help you?"

"I've got a student outside," Miss Dodds said. "You know...the _California_ _girl_." Her voice dropped lower, making Annabeth unable to hear.

Annabeth scowled.

"Ah yes," Mr. D said. "That one. Send her in. Phillip, you're dismissed."

Miss Dodds appeared a moment later. "Come on," she said. Her voice was far too happy. "The principal will see you now." She watched with narrowed eyes as Annabeth stalked past her and rounded the corner.

There was a narrow hallway leading to the office. She and Percy Jackson met midway, where they both forced to stop due to lack of room.

"Fine, I'll move," Percy said after several seconds of a standoff. "There's no need to thank me. Though I'm sure you weren't planning on it." It wasn't the playful tone of that morning, but rather short and irritated.

Annabeth felt a stab of guilt as she walked past his half turned body. He had caught her that morning. Prevented a painful fall that surely would have broken something. And how had she repaid him?

Drew was right: she was a bitch.

Annabeth turned back around, determined to choke out a quick thank you and be done with it, but the words died on her lips when she saw his arrogant smirk and raised middle finger.

Hot with fury, she spun back around and growled, "Asshole."

His harsh, amused laughter was the only response she got. She ignored it and marched into the office.

A man in a leopard print shirt sat behind the desk. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose red and his cheeks puffy. He was currently draining a two liter bottle of Diet Coke.

"Annabelle Clark," he said, swiping a hand across his mouth and tossing the now empty bottle of soda into the overflowing recycling bin.

" _You're_ Principal Dionysus?" Annabeth said.

His bloodshot eyes flashed. "It's _Mr. D_ to you, Bethany Cohen.

"My name isn't—"

"I know what your name is, little girl," he said, waving her comment off. "Now, you've been at this school for—" he glanced down at a file— "three hours, and you've already broken the dress code, started a fight, and caused a scene in the courtyard."

"I didn't get in a fight," Annabeth protested. "I didn't even touch her!"

Mr. D raised an eyebrow. "You're under the assumption that I care. Let me assure you that I don't."

Annabeth stared at him, open mouthed. " _You're the freaking principal_ ," she said. "You're supposed to care!"

"I suppose we could let the two skirmishes go," he mused, "but the dress code...yes, that is a very serious offense. You're making yourself quite distracting to our male population."

"You're kidding, right?" Annabeth said, outraged. "You're willing to let students get into fights, but the second a girl's bra strap shows, the line has been crossed? All because boys don't know how to keep it in their goddamn—"

"Swearing on school grounds," Mr. D added. He jotted down a note in the file.

"That's not a rule!"

Mr. D set down his pen. "Well, Annie Cresta, my professional instincts are telling me to suspend you."

"What? You can't suspend me, you son of a—" Annabeth stopped herself. She couldn't be rash. She had to be logical, to use her brains. That was what she was good at. Not exploding and punching middle aged men with a bad sense of fashion. She took a deep breath.

"Sir," she started again. "Is there any other way we can resolve this?"

Mr. D leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. "Well...I suppose the root of the problem is your outfit. Let's say this: if you spend the rest of the school day in the bathroom—away from the distractible eyes of our male population—then I won't suspend you."

Annabeth thought she might erupt with anger at this potbellied, sexist, greasy haired principal—but then an echo of her mother's voice entered her mind.

" _Really, Annie?" Athena said sternly. "Did I raise you to be an impulsive brat? I passed on my intelligence for a reason. Use it."_

And then the voice was gone.

Annabeth closed her eyes. Counted to ten. Counted to ten again, this time in Greek. Then: "I accept your terms."

Mr. D smiled. "How very wise of you," he said. "You have—" he checked the clock— "the next five minutes to choose a bathroom. Dismissed."

Annabeth slammed the door so hard the wooden frame cracked under the force.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _A rundown of my day so far:_

 _1) I get to school and embarrass myself in front of dozens of kids._

 _2) At lunch, I am publicly humiliated by a stereotypical popular girl—and I'm serious about the stereotype. It's like she decided to copy Sharpay Evans, all the way down to the bright pink nails and perfect curls._

 _3) The principal...I don't even know what to say about him. He's either really hungover or he was born looking like a wilted plant. And he's a sexist douchebag, which is why I'm skipping the rest of my classes and sitting in the girls bathroom on the first floor._

 _4) I run into another stereotypical teen—I'm guessing he's in the jock category, since he's on a sports team, has a height of several-inches-taller-than-me, and is athletically inclined. Let's just say there are no lost feelings between us._

 _Anything interesting in your life?_

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _If we lived in the same city, I would be running to the store to buy you some 'Blair's Best Choco Cream' so you can drown your sorrows in high amounts of fat and sugar._

 _My life is pretty good right now. I'm sitting in math class and rebelling against the public school system by scrolling through Tumblr (which is why I responded so fast). As to anything interesting...I have grown a deep disliking of a recent transfer. She's...well, let's just say that her pretty features hide a very nasty temper._

 _If only you had been the one to transfer here. I know, that would never happen, but a guy can dream, right?_

 _It would be so cool. You'd walk in and we'd make eye contact and instantly recognize each other (because that's just who we are, the 'tumblr besties' since first grade) and we'd spend the rest of the day laughing and joking and making fun of mean transfers and stereotypical teens._

 _But since life hates us both, I'm stuck here with an ungrateful cow of a girl, and you there (wherever that is) with a growing list of rivalries._

 _Maybe in a different life._

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _You're absolutely right. And the ice cream? That's the best idea I've ever—_

"So," a voice interrupted, "you're the princess my cousin saved from eating cement."

Annabeth snapped her laptop shut.

Another girl was in the bathroom. She slouched against the far wall, arms crossed, combat boots tapping an irregular beat as she chewed a piece of gum.

If Annabeth has still been messaging Seaweed Brain, she would have classified this girl under the 'Avoid At All Costs Unless You Want To Get Stabbed' stereotype.

Silver chains hung from the girl's ripped skinny jeans, clinking together every time she moved. Her shirt featured a Barbie with an arrow through its head, which would have been intimidating enough without her spiky black hair, thick black eyeliner, and leather jacket, which—surprise—was black.

The jacket looked several sizes too big for her, but Annabeth wasn't about to tell her that. She preferred to stay unstabbed on her first day of school.

"Princess?" Annabeth repeated.

The girl gestured to her hair. "You know. Your curls. They look like a princess's. Hasn't anyone told you that before?"

"Um...no, actually. And did you say cousin?"

The girl blew a bubble. "Yup. I'm the soul unfortunate enough to be related to Percy Jackson. I'm Thalia, by the way. Resident Goth Girl at Goode."

"Annabeth Chase," Annabeth said cautiously. She climbed to her feet and tucked her laptop in her bag. "And you've already labeled me, so…"

Thalia laughed, appraising Annabeth. "I like you," she said. "You've got spunk."

For some reason, Annabeth felt a rush of pride. It didn't really make sense, feeling satisfaction at the compliment of a total stranger, but praise was so rare for her to receive that she found herself relishing it.

"So you've been in here—what—forty five minutes? You hiding from someone?" Thalia unhooked a chain from her belt and began twisting it with her left hand.

Annabeth made a mental note to stay on Thalia's good side. "No," she said. "Your asinine principal sent me here because I broke the dress code. It was this or get suspended."

Thalia rolled her eyes. "That scumbag," she said. "If this were any other school, Mr. D and Mrs. Dodds would have been fired ten times over for the stuff they've done."

"Why haven't they been?" As far as Annabeth knew, giving a student an in-school suspension in the _bathroom_ would have gotten any California teacher dismissed on the spot.

"School board connections," Thalia explained. "Mr. D's grandfather runs the thing. They could commit murder and Old Grandpa wouldn't bat an eye." She reattached the chain to her belt. "I hear what people are saying about you. Don't listen to them. You can wear whatever you want."

Annabeth stared at her. Here was this girl—with her oversized leather jacket, thick eyeliner, and death aura—and she was the only one offering any kind of support.

This was how pathetic her life had become: she was depending on the kind words of a stranger in a public bathroom to get through the day.

"Thanks," Annabeth said. "I'm usually not…" she gestured down at herself. "California winters are really hot. And since New York City schools don't believe in giving out warnings, I'm stuck here for the rest of the day."

Thalia's electric blue eyes blazed with anger. "That old sot," she said. "He can't make you stay in here."

"Well, unless you've got any bright ideas that don't involve me getting suspended, then yes, he can."

"Actually…" Thalia's eyes lit up. "I do. Take off your clothes."

" _Excuse me?"_

Thalia was already shrugging out of her large leather jacket. She tossed it to Annabeth, who caught it, stunned. The 'Death to Barbie' shirt quickly followed.

"Um, Thalia…" she said nervously. "What are you…"

"We're trading clothes," Thalia said. "We're springing you out of here and shoving rebellion in Mr. D's face at the same time. It's a win-win."

"He'll just suspend you. It's not worth it." Annabeth didn't understand why this girl wanted to help her. What could she hope to gain from Annabeth's humiliation?

Thalia grinned. "Don't worry," she said. "He can't touch me. Now give me your clothes! It's freezing in here."

She was right about the temperature. The thermostat read: 59°F. It was no wonder everyone dressed like it was Antarctica.

"Mr. D stopped paying the heat bill last year," Thalia explained. "I'm pretty sure the funds are now going toward his nightly pinochle games." She snapped her fingers. "Shirt. Now. Before I get frostbite."

Still in shock, she pulled off her shirt and handed it to Thalia.

"Thanks," Thalia said, tugging it on. "Now, that should fit—what the hell?"

"What?"

She pointed at Annabeth's side. "Where'd you get that?"

Annabeth glanced down. On her side, a large bruise was beginning to bloom, right where she had been hit that morning. "Oh," she said. "That explains the pain. Don't worry about it," she added. "It was an accident."

Thalia shook her head. "You're a tough cookie," she said. A wicked grin crossed her face. "Now hurry up! I'm in the mood for some teenage rebellion."

* * *

Thalia walked through the hallways—which were a toasty 56°F—wearing Annabeth's shorts and tank top, and possessing the same level of confidence that Drew did. She didn't seem to mind the stares, and even high fived a curly haired teacher sitting in a wheelchair, who winked cheerfully as they passed.

"Come on," Thalia said, pulling her along. "Mr. D's always in the commons during break."

"Why?" Annabeth asked. She was having trouble keeping the silver chains from clanking together, and even more difficulty with the oversized jacket. "And why do you buy clothes twice your size?"

"He watches for PDA and then takes people's spare change as punishment. Welcome to Good," Thalia added after seeing her expression. "There he is!"

Mr. D was indeed sitting in the commons. He might have been performing his principal duties, but his bathrobe, beach chair, and Coke bottle half filled with coins ruined the image.

His bloodshot eyes widened when he saw Thalia and Annabeth. "What do you think—"

"What's up, Big D?" Thalia said confidently. "Do you like my new outfit?"

Mr. D's eyes blazed, and for a moment Annabeth thought he might throw his soda bottle at her face.

Then Thalia said: "My dad's still planning on writing the school a check this afternoon. Did you want five thousand or ten?"

 _Ten thousand?_

And suddenly Mr. D was a different person. "Ten would be wonderful, my dear girl," he said with a smile that stretched his face unnaturally. Reaching into his bottle, he withdrew a quarter and tossed it to her. "Please tell your father that his generous donation is greatly appreciated."

"The school," Thalia muttered as they rounded the corner. "Yeah, right. That check's going into his Tuesday poker game."

"You're...you're rich," Annabeth stuttered.

Thalia seemed to realize her shock. "Don't judge," she said with a scowl. "I'd be happy living in a shack, but...well, Dad's got a fancy job. He cares about it more than his kids," she added bitterly.

"I'm not judging. Just...surprised."

Thalia certainly didn't dress like she was rich. The loaned shirt was riddled with holes, and her jeans still had a Goodwill tag stuck to them.

Back in California, it hadn't mattered if her friends were rich. Annabeth had lived a comfortable middle class life, her friends had lived an above middle class life, and that was that. But now that she was actually poor—now that she was sharing her apartment with rodents—the revelation brought her to a pause.

Thalia seemed to sense it. She stopped and faced Annabeth. "Look. It's not that big of a deal. I'm not one of those kids who's snobby and stuck up. You know that, right?"

Annabeth nodded. "It's...it's fine. I was just caught off guard."

Thalia bit her lip, and Annabeth saw the girl's cocky facade crumble slightly. "Look," she said. "You need some warm clothes, right? How about you come over to my place and take some of mine?"

"No, Thalia, it's really—"

"Please. I have more than enough."

Annabeth was about to turn her down. She hated depending on people, and she hated owing them even more. But then she saw something in Thalia's eyes: Desperation. For understanding. For reassurance. For a friend.

It was the same face she saw in the mirror every day.

She closed her eyes and exhaled. "Okay. But I owe you. Big time."

Thalia grinned. "Deal. You can do my math homework for the rest of junior year."

Annabeth was about to protest that, no, she wouldn't assist her in undermining the public school system for a second time that day, when she caught sight of someone familiar standing across the hall.

"One second," she said. "I'll be right back.

* * *

Percy Jackson was rummaging through his locker when Annabeth tapped his shoulder.

He turned around, a friendly smile on his face. "Hey Thals, I was just—oh. It's you." The friendly cheer dissipated instantly, replaced with wariness. "What do you want?"

Annabeth inhaled, sucking in her pride and steeling her resolve. "Look, I just came to apologi—"

"Is that my jacket?" he interrupted.

Ah. That explained the size.

"Um…" she hedged.

"Seriously?" Percy said. "You're stealing my clothes now? How did you even get that?"

"Thalia gave it to me!" Annabeth said defensively. "She was helping me out."

"Thal—" He closed his eyes. "YOU'RE DEAD, PINECONE FACE!"

"YOU SHOULD HAVE LOCKED YOUR DOOR!" came Thalia's response from across the hall.

Percy opened his eyes. "Whatever," he said. "I've got enough on my plate, so—"

"The swim team?"

He looked surprised. "You heard about that?"

"Yeah, I—um, I overheard—" She didn't want him to know she had been eavesdropping, so instead she said, "It doesn't matter."

That hadn't come out right. Annabeth knew by the look on his face that he interpreted her comment as _the-swim-team_ - _being-shut-down_ didn't matter.

"Right," Percy said coldly. "Thanks for the reminder." He slammed his locker shut and stalked away.

"Wait!" she cried. "That didn't come out right!"

"Piss off!" he shouted back.

" _Piss off_?" Annabeth said, outraged. "I'M TRYING TO APOLOGIZE, YOU DOUCHEBAG! STOP WALKING AWAY FROM—and you're gone."

Several sniggers broke out as the door slammed behind Percy, but they quieted at Thalia's glare. "Tough luck," she said, walking up. "You ready to blow this place?"

Annabeth was shaking with fury. "That...utter... _argh_! I'm so done with him!" She clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white.

She didn't owe Percy Jackson a goddamned thing. Not when he was a rude, arrogant, temper tantrum throwing jerk. "Asshole," she growled.

Thalia slung an arm around her. "Trust me, you have no idea how many times I've said that."

"I'm never talking to him again," Annabeth resolved. "We can just forget we ever met." She nodded to herself, as if to affirm her words, and then pushed all Percy Jackson related thoughts away.

After all, she would never have to speak to him again.

* * *

As it turned out, she did speak to him. A lot.

The first time happened the next day, when he tripped (she knew it was on purpose, since he smirked at her beforehand) and spilled spaghetti over her borrowed sweater, which ended in a heated argument about clumsiness and whether or not laundry detergent could remove an entire lunch from the fabric. The argument had ended after she dumped her caesar salad on his head and stalked away.

A week later, Annabeth was assigned the locker above his. They immediately started squabbling about who deserved more hallway space. Percy argued that he needed more, because he was bigger than her and therefore required more room. She replied that his ego took up so much space, she was already becoming claustrophobic. Neither was willing to bend.

Naturally, the next day Annabeth's locker door was found in the bathroom, whereas Percy's was duct taped shut with five rolls worth of tape.

Annabeth reattached her door in less than five minutes and gloated over the four hours Percy spent trying to remove the tape with safety scissors.

It was like one of the unbreakable laws of the universe: every object remains at rest unless acted upon by another force, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and Percy and Annabeth will fight from dawn until dusk, neither prevailing, separated like fire and water, waiting for the next moment of strife to occur.

After two weeks, Annabeth decided that she and Percy were irrevocably, unassailably, bitter enemies, fated to clash again and again until one of them caved.

Annabeth swore it wouldn't be her.

Three weeks passed, during which the school gossiped about the latest arguments. Thalia roared with laughter at both of them. Most of Percy's casual friends shot daggers at her with their eyes, while his close ones ran up, gave her hugs, and thanked her for the entertainment of watching Percy try to melt the hot glue that cemented his skateboard's wheels in place.

Home life didn't improve. She was still sleeping on the floor. Frederick was still looking for a job. They were down to a single package of instant oatmeal for food. The only silver lining was that her ribs had stopped hurting.

Annabeth was also avoiding Mr. D like the plague. She knew he was just waiting for an opportunity to get revenge for her undermining him, and so she steered clear of him at all costs, giving him no time or excuse to punish her.

She messaged Seaweed Brain every night. She kept the details vague, but she vented her frustration to him—about Percy (who remained nameless), her apartment, her mother, Mr. D, the neighbors that ogled her chest every time she left the apartment, about how she hated this stupid city, and she hated her school, and she hated this year.

She even told him that sometimes she hated herself.

Seaweed Brain was always there for her. He sent random cat gifs when she confessed to crying. He timed it so they both started the same episode of Friends at the same time. He told her about every embarrassing thing he had ever done (it was quite a long list, and one she was very familiar with) to cheer her up.

He even told her about the new girl coming to his school, and how they couldn't seem to stop fighting.

 _It's weird how we've both gained lifelong enemies at the same time,_ he wrote once. _Next time, we should try to fall in love at the same time._

Annabeth completely agreed.

* * *

It was on a Friday that Annabeth entered the commons during break.

She walked quickly, hoping to make it through without Mr. D seeing her, but then—for reasons she couldn't explain—slowed when she saw Percy standing in front of the principal.

Mr. D lounged in his usual beach chair, with a cocktail glass (which hopefully held Coke) in one hand and a fistful of coins in the other. Instead of listening to Percy's agitated words, he was polishing the coins with the sleeve of his leopard print shirt.

"Please," Mr. D," Percy said. "You can't shut us down."

Mr. D examined his dirty nails. "I'm sorry, Peter Johnson," he said. "It's not my fault there aren't enough members to justify a swim team."

"Yes it is! A third of the school has applied, and you turned them all down!"

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic. None of them were good enough to represent our noble school."

Several yards behind Mr. D, a ceiling tile fell, showering the floor with dust and bits plastic. Several students screamed, and Mr. D rolled his eyes. "Use your inside voices!" he shouted. "Haven't any of you been taught proper etiquette?"

Percy looked like he was about to tear his hair out in frustration, but before he could say anything else, Mr. D caught sight of Annabeth.

"Annie Bell!" he said. "Front and center!"

Annabeth mentally groaned. She had done a perfect job of avoiding him, and now, thanks to Percy Jackson, she was trapped. Cursing under her breath, she dragged herself to stand next to Percy.

"Yes, your Highly Responsible and Qualified Principalship?" she said.

Mr. D didn't seem to catch the sarcasm. On the contrary, he looked rather pleased with the title. "I see you've found some new clothing," he said. "Well done."

Forcing herself to remain calm, she plastered a smile on her face. "Thanks," she said through gritted teeth.

Beside her, Percy gave a loud cough that poorly disguised the words, " _Thalia's clothes."_

She glowered at him. Even though he was right, Annabeth didn't like the reminder that she had to depend on someone else while giving them nothing in return.

On the first day of school, Thalia had sent her away with two boxes stuffed with clothes she said 'aren't punk enough for me,' and refused to let Annabeth pay her back later. "I'm glad to be rid of them," she said. "You're doing me a favor."

Annabeth still resolved to make it up to her somehow.

Today, she was wearing dark jeans, sneakers, and a white ski jacket that reflected her body heat (a useful tool in a school whose temperature hovered around _60℉)._ There was nothing Mr. D could punish her for, nothing he could use to get his revenge.

Then Mr. D said: "However, your left shoelace is untied. That will be six months of detention."

Annabeth's eyes widened. "Wh—what?" she stuttered.

Six months of detention. That alone would be bad enough, but to top it, Mrs. Dodds was in charge of detention. Annabeth had heard the rumours. It was better to take your chances jumping out of an airplane with no parachute than detention with her.

Percy snorted with laughter, and Annabeth rounded on him. "You think that's funny?" she said. "Well, I'm having a great time watching you grovel to keep the swim team afloat. Should I make popcorn?"

Percy's clenched his jaw. "You did not go there."

Annabeth shoved her face into his, hating the three inch height advantage he had. "What? You think I care about your little sports team? News flash: you don't have one anymore."

Percy's eyes glowed with hatred. "At least I'm not stuck in detention for six months. How are you going to get your perfect grades then, Miss Know-It-All?"

"Asshole!"

"Loud-mouth!"

"Dipwad!"

"Asshole!"

"I already said that, you self absorbed jerk!"

Their faces were inches apart. Annabeth was half raised on her toes, fists clenched at her sides, her eyes now level with his sea green ones.

She had never hated someone so much as she did Percy Jackson. For a moment, she wondered what had even started this endless feud, but she impatiently brushed the thought aside. She hated him. He hated her. And now they were staring at each other, eyes locked, communicating their complete loathing of the other with no words.

Both of them started at the sound of clapping.

Mr. D was watching them with clear entertainment, bringing his hands together in a slow, dramatic applause. "Bravo," he said. "A wonderful performance. I can almost see the teenage hormones swirling around."

They both stared at him. "What?"

He rolled his eyes. "You two are really dense, aren't you"

With great difficulty, Annabeth turned away from Percy and said, "I don't want detention," at the same time that Percy said, "I don't want the swim team shut down."

They both glared daggers at each other.

A wide smile grew on Mr. D's face. He took a sip from his cocktail glass and smacked his lips. "Let me get this straight: you don't want detention, and you want a swim team. Correct?"

"Yes."

Mr. D pointed at her. "What would you do to get out of detention?"

"Anything!"

"Very well," Mr D said. He drained the cocktail glass and tented his fingers. "I will strike a deal. Annie Bell, I will revoke your detention on one condition. Peter Johnson, I will allow the swim team to continue on one condition."

"What condition?" she asked.

In retrospect, Annabeth should have seen his next words coming. She should have connected the dots, put together his love of suffering students with their predicament and completed the puzzle. But she didn't.

Mr. D smiled again. "Annie Bell joins the swim team."

There was silence. And then they both exploded.

" _What? Out of two hundred students, you choose her? You can't do that, you b—_

" _Join the swim team? With him as captain? You can't make me do that!"_

Mr. D slammed the cocktail glass down. "Silence!" he said. "That is my bargain. Take it or leave it."

Annabeth stood there, chest heaving, muscles clenched. Six months of detention. Six miserable, time wasting, traumatic months with Mrs. Dodds.

Or she could join the swim team.

With _Percy Jackson_ as captain.

Her stomach churned. "Oh my god."

Percy looked like he was trying to swallow a seashell. "Two hundred applications," he muttered to himself. "Two hundred. Two _freaking_ hundred, and he chooses her."

Mr. D's looked far too happy. "Decisions, decisions," he said. "What will it be?"

Annabeth resisted the urge to throw his cocktail glass at the wall.

Percy turned to Annabeth and said stiffly, "Can you swim?"

"What?"

" _Can you swim?"_

It was a ridiculous question. She had practically grown up on the beaches of California. She had even been a lifeguard last summer, at the same beach she had first met Luke.

"Yes," she said. "Of course I can swim."

Percy muttered something under his breath, then said, "Well? Will you join?"

She blinked. "You actually want me to join?"

"No!" Percy said. "I would take Thalia over you at this point, and she's never set foot in a body of water. But my team is depending on me. So what's it gonna be: detention or the team?"

Annabeth scowled. Shifted her weight from foot to foot. Fisted her hands and placed them on her hips. Dropped them to her side again. Then: "Okay. I'll join your stupid team."

Mr. D raised his empty cocktail glass. "To student misery—er, I mean, a bright future!"

They both glowered at him. Perhaps sensing their anger, he said hastily, "Well, it's time for you to get to class. Off you go!"

Annabeth turned on her heel and stalked away.

She was hardly aware of the bell ringing, or the hallways emptying of students, or that Percy was walking beside her, cursing under his breath, just like she was.

By some unspoken agreement, they stopped in a deserted hallway and faced each other.

Percy summed up their situation in two words. "This sucks."

Annabeth crossed her arms. "Are you saying I'm not good enough for your dumb team?"

"I'm saying—look, have you ever swam competitively before?"

"No."

"When was the last time you were in a pool?"

"I…I don't know. I swim at beaches. Or I did."

"Do you even know how a swim meet works?"

Her face must have said it all; he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Great," he said. "I'm doomed."

"Hey!" Annabeth said. "I didn't ask to move across the country, or to be in some shitty school that's falling apart, or to waste my time doing laps in a pool. So stop pretending like this is my fault!"

They were nose to nose again. Percy looked surprised at her words, then frustrated.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Annabeth said, "I'm going to be on your team. So you better deal with it."

Percy stared at her in silence. After a long pause, he said, "First practice is Monday after school. Two hours. Don't be late."

Annabeth nodded shortly. "Deal." She stepped back and began walking away.

"Hey, Chase!"

She paused but didn't turn around.

"Don't mess this up for me," Percy said. "I have a lot riding on it."

She closed her eyes and wondered why her life had gone to shit. Then she said, "Fine," and turned the corner, leaving Percy alone in an empty hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Here's the promised filler: it features messages between young Seaweed Brain and Wise Girl.**_

* * *

 _Age fourteen:_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _She stole my first kiss today._

 _Stole. S-T-O-L-E. Pilfered. Filched. Hijacked. I could fill the page with dozens more._

 _I don't know why I'm so upset—every straight guy at school would be happy to feel her lip-glossed lips slide against their own, to feel her arms wrapped around their neck, to breathe in the sweet scent of jasmine and pine from her hair._

 _When I got home, I spent two hours in the shower. The smell still won't go away._

 _It wasn't that big of a deal. She kissed me. People kiss each other. It's normal. I just wish there had been some warning, you know? I mean, one second we were talking about the swim team, and the next she's standing on tiptoe and pressing her lips against mine in the middle of a crowded hallway._

 _I just...it was the first one. It was supposed to be special._

 _And now it's not._

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _I'll kill her. Say her name and she's dead._

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _As much as I'd like to see you beat up the most popular girl in school, I'm gonna have to decline. I'm pretty sure prison doesn't have wifi, so if you're arrested for first degree murder (a likely probability), we'd never be able to message again._

 _Thanks for the support, though. It's always nice to be backed by an angry blonde._

 _Have you had you first kiss yet?_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _Yes._

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _Seriously? That's all I get? A three-freaking-letter word that gives me nothing but burning curiosity?_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _Ugh, okay fine. My first kiss was two weeks ago, on a sandy beach, under an abandoned wooden pier. We kissed, and the sun set and the waves lapped at my bare feet like I was in a movie._

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _AND WHY IS THIS BEAUTIFUL DESCRIPTION OF YOUNG LOVE BEING SHARED TWO WEEKS LATE?_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _ARE THE OUTRAGED CAPITALIZED LETTERS REALLY NECESSARY?_

 _In all honesty, it was because the kiss sucked: it was raining; the pier smelled like rotting fish; there were crabs snapping at my ankles; the waves splashed us with freezing seawater; and he spent the entire time trying to stick his creepily long tongue down my throat. Like, if his tongue were any longer, it would have touched my uvula, and then I would have barfed in both of our mouths._

 _Super romantic, right?_

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _Let me get this straight: your first kiss involved crabs, rotting fish, and a teenage boy's impossibly long tongue?_

 _That is the saddest thing I've ever heard._

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _It is pretty sad, isn't it?_

 _It's just—it's like you said. The first kiss is supposed to be special. It's supposed to happen in the white gazebo by the moonlit lake, with giggles and roses and soft caresses, and there's supposed to be that little pause when you look into each other's eyes and think—_ we're doing this— _and then it happens._

 _God, I read too many romance novels. Did I seriously just write that cheesy paragraph?_

- _Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _That is some Shakespearean shit if I ever heard it._

 _(It was very beautiful Shakespearean shit, though. I was deeply moved.)_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _Shakespearean shit? Really?_

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _Hey, I said it was_ beautiful _Shakespearean shit! And that I was deeply moved! What more do you want from me?_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _How about a kiss that doesn't suck?_

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 **Dear Wise Girl,**

 **. . .**

 **. . .**

 **. . .**

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _Oh my god that didn't come out right._

 _That was a general statement. It was...it was a pathetic wish shouted to the universe! I was NOT asking for a kiss from you specifically. That would be...god, that would be weird._

 _GOT IT? I WASN'T ASKING FOR YOU TO KISS ME._

 _I'm going to go curl up and die now._

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _My mom is asking why I'm laughing so hard that I'm crying. So don't worry—I'm pretty sure I will die of amusement before you die of embarrassment._

 _Then again, if I were to die, I wouldn't be able to enjoy the new six-pack that my laughing fit will create. My stomach muscles hurt more than they do in gym class._

 _(When my six pack appears, you're gonna be sorry you didn't want to kiss me.)_

 _By the way—what's so weird about us kissing?_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _I've recovered enough from my burning shame to respond to your question._

 _Kissing each other is weird because:_

 _1\. We're never even met in real life. For all I know, you could be a crazy axe murderer; and for all you know, I could be a serial vampire-squid killer._

 _2\. We're best friends. Like, I know everything about you. I know that you love swimming and sandwiches and the ocean—I even know that you hate the sound of teeth biting into an apple. How weird would it be to kiss your best friend when you know tiny details like?_

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _I see your point. Even though I'm not an axe murderer, and I'm pretty sure you don't kill vampire-squids in your free time, it would still be weird to kiss your best friend. Especially since I know everything about you too. For instance: how weird would it be to kiss someone who hates yogurt?_

 _Also—did you just call me your best friend?_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _M...a...y...b...e…?_

 _-Wise Girl_

 _P.S.~It's not weird to hate yogurt. Yogurt is the spawn of the devil. It is malicious, evil, and looks like slimy goop created in a witch's cauldron._

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _So it's official: We're best friends._

 _-Seaweed Brain_

 _P.S.~Don't insult yogurt. It can't help the way it looks._

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _For the record, talking to my best friend at 3 a.m. is a lot funner than my first kiss ever was._

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _I agree. Our first kisses sucked._

 _Rules the perfect kiss:_

 _1) No mean crabs_

 _2) No creepily long tongues_

 _3) No gag reflex_

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 _ **Dear Seaweed Brain,**_

 _Rules for the perfect kiss (extended):_

 _4) No jasmine and/or pine perfume._

 _5) Ask before kissing the other person—I'm thinking of some honest line, like, "Goddammit, I want to kiss you so badly. Can I?"_

 _6) No lipgloss._

 _Here's our pledge: when we think we're in love with someone—like, really in love, not just a stupid crush—we'll set up the perfect kiss. And we'll follow all six rules._

 _Agreed?_

 _-Wise Girl_

* * *

 _ **Dear Wise Girl,**_

 _Agreed._

 _-Seaweed Brain_

* * *

 **Please drop a note for this chapter—I love hearing from you; and reading your thoughts on my work is always wonderful.**

 **I'm not done writing the next chapter, but hopefully this was a nice filler to read during the wait.**

 **(Response to last chapter's reviews are posted at the bottom of my profile.)**


	5. Chapter 5

It was late afternoon when Annabeth pushed open the orange-and-yellow doors, her clothes drenched with rain, wet curls clinging to her jacket, backpack tucked protectively against her side. She was hit with a blast of warm air that sent goosebumps up her arms.

The frozen yogurt shop looked exactly as it did on its website (which she had stumbled upon earlier that day). A row of booths lined one side, parallel to the windows that looked out onto a busy street. The floor was checkered orange-and-yellow. Behind the counter, two employees in neon uniforms bantered while cleaning up a container of spilled gummy bears. The wall opposite them displayed the frozen yogurt flavors: berry n' lime, strawberry cheesecake, red velvet surprise, cookie dough, toasted marshmallow, and about a dozen chocolate themed options.

Her mouth watered at the sight of Chocolate-Raspberry-and-Lemon, but her pockets (empty save for three quarters and a stick of gum) served as a callous reminder of her circumstances; and so, with a final look of regret, she turned away and chose a booth near the door. She removed her laptop from her bag, set it on the table, and then pulled out her best birthday gift ever received: a large sketchbook.

The sketchbook had started as something of a joke. On her fifteenth birthday, she had messaged Seaweed Brain and told him that nothing could beat the spectacular present her parents had given her: a coupon for a discount tour of her mother's work building, _Athena Architecture Inc_ (because nothing says love like giving your only daughter permission to visit you at work...for her _birthday_ ). Seaweed Brain had taken the challenge a little too seriously. The next day, he had helped her set up an anonymous account, wired her thirty bucks, and then deleted his account before she could try and pay him back.

And so, per his instructions, she had bought the sketchbook.

It was a beautiful thing, gray and leather-bound, with _Annabeth_ embossed on the cover in gold lettering. On the inside of the back-cover, her Tumblr URL was etched in the right-hand corner, also embossed in gold lettering. Beneath it was inked the message Seaweed Brain had told her to inscribe:

 _Dear Wise Girl,_

 _Design a dream, okay? I know how many of those you have. And sometimes all that's needed for Potential to become Reality is the ability to see it in front of you._

 _-Seaweed Brain_

A small smile crossed Annabeth's face, and for a moment she forgot about her wet clothes, and the rain lashing the windows beside her, and the inevitable humiliation that would come with Monday's swim practice—and she let herself be lost in his words.

Then, the message still bold in her mind, she turned to the front and began flipping through the pages. Pencil strokes stared back at her, sharp and angular, bold and long; they built skyscrapers with sloping walls of glass and stone; monuments jutting out from the ground, tall and imposing; interior lobbies with soaring ceilings and wood-paneled walls. They were beautiful. Inspired. Powerful.

And then they weren't.

Ever since her parents' divorce—ever since she had discovered what her mom's 'business trips' actually were—she had been unable to design even a doghouse. Her strokes were wobbly and distorted. Buildings looked more like dilapidated blocks. Her skyscrapers might have been drawn by a three year old—and not even a very talented three year old. Just an average, crayon scribbling toddler. The ideas that once spilled out of her as naturally as breathing, the designs she had sketched with ease, the inspiration that had kept her up into the early morning hours was gone now, made impossible to regain by a barrier that she couldn't see, much less remove.

Annabeth stopped at the last page of the sketchbook, where a drawing of her favorite work of architecture resided: the Seattle Space Needle. It had taken her weeks to draw, but she was proud of the finished product, with its slender limbs shooting into the sky, supporting a large disk whose observation deck overlooked the whole city. Situated in the heart of Seattle, three thousand miles across the country, it remained her most idolized piece of architecture in the United States.

She wanted to visit the Space Needle even more than she wanted to visit the Colosseum in Rome—which was the go-to dream for every aspiring architect since it was built two thousand years ago. Annabeth had spent years begging to tag along on her mother's business trips to Seattle (that is, until she realized the business trips weren't exactly _business trips_ ). Sometimes, she thought if she could just see the Space Needle in person, take in the raw genius of its design, then she would be able to unlock all of architecture's secrets and surpass even her mother Athena in terms of skill and success.

It was a stupid dream. A stupid thought. But as she doodled on the opposite page, trying to recreate the drawing she had created before her life had turned into the mess it was now, she found herself holding onto it as her lines swooped downward, creating a poor copy that was blocky and distorted and looked like a sagging umbrella.

How pathetic. She was an aspiring architect, and she couldn't even draw a tower.

With a frustrated sigh, she closed the sketchbook and turned to her laptop. She entered the WiFi password ( _froyo for froyou,_ really?), then opened her Tumblr message thread and began typing.

Message to: Seaweed Brain

Draft:

 _Dear Seaweed Brain,_

 _Do you ever think the only redeemable part of life is chocolate? I mean, no matter what happens, it's always there: in ice cream, granola bars, candy—hell, it's even in frozen yogurt. Who is the genius that came up with chocolate?_

 _...I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear me rant about life and chocolate. It's Friday, after all. Time for the weekend. Feel free to ignore my bitching/chocolate rants until Monday._

 _-Wise Girl_

Annabeth shut the laptop, cursed herself, and slid it into her backpack.

Behind the counter, the two employees had finished cleaning up the spilled gummy bears. One, a girl several years older than Annabeth, was small and short, with warm brown skin and tightly-corded curls that spiraled out. The other was a tall boy with less-curly hair, beige-tan skin, and elvish features. He was grinning mischievously and so, when the girl handed him the container of gummy bears, Annabeth was unsurprised to see him dump it over her head. The girl's eyes widened as gummy bears rained down. She immediately began giving a half-shouted lecture to the boy, who was roaring with laughter.

Still idly doodling, Annabeth watched them, one elbow propped on the table, her chin resting in her hand. As she watched, the boy stopped laughing and tried to apologize; but the girl grabbed a fistful of mini-marshmallows out of a jar and began flinging them at him. As the boy yelped, throwing his arms over his head, the girl burst out laughing. A delighted smile appeared on the boy's face. Annabeth was sure he thought being pelted by marshmallows was a fair pay-off for making the girl laugh.

She was so lost in thought, she didn't notice the person standing by her table until he spoke.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped, her pencil skidding across the page. "Jesus Christ, give a person some warning, will— _Jackson?"_

Percy stood above her, a gym-bag slung across one shoulder, a hand tucked in the pocket of his jeans. His dark hair was tousled and damp, and he smelled of saltwater and chlorine, which was a surprisingly nice scent (not that Annabeth cared.) "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to scare you." He sounded more amused than sorry, and that, coupled with his knowing smirk, did nothing to improve Annabeth's ill feelings toward him.

"It's fine," she said coldly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm really busy with—"

"Is that a building or a decrepit pickle?"

"A decrepit _what?"_

"A decrepit pickle." He shifted his gym-bag to the other shoulder and pointed at her sketchbook. "I suppose it could be a similar looking object, but I was trying to be discreet."

Her face flushed. "It's not a decrepit pickle," she snarled, "or anything _similar looking."_ Sketchbook in hand, she got to her feet and fumbled with the zipper of her backpack. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go study somewhere quiet, like a coffee shop or a library, somewhere that I won't get interrupted with naive questions."

"A coffee shop, huh? Are your taste buds too refined for frozen yogurt?"

" _No."_ The zipper wouldn't budge. Setting down the sketchbook, she tugged at it with both hands. "But my taste buds tend to get— _move, zipper_ —a bitter taste when— _go up_ —ignorant jerks like you insult my— _damn it_ —work!"

Percy looked more amused than ever. Annabeth considered throwing marshmallows at him. "There's a simple trick to that, Chase. But I suppose I'm too much of an ignorant jerk to help you with it."

"No! I mean, yes! I mean...oh, for the love of god, Jackson, just leave me alone so I can— _hey!"_

Before she could stop him, Percy had plucked the backpack from her hands, scooped up her sketchbook, and slid into the booth's bench opposite her, his blue sweatshirt clashing horribly with the orange-and-yellow divider behind him.

"Give it back!" She tried to lunge for it, but he tossed his gym-bag on the table, creating an effective barrier. "You—"

"I'm taking it hostage," he informed her. One hand rested on her sketchbook; the other held her backpack, whose faded denim looked drab against the dark blue of his gym-bag. "You can have it back, fifteen minutes tops. I just want to talk."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," she scoffed.

"Would you look at that," Percy said, feigning surprise as he looked down at her open sketchbook, "there's some writing behind this page. How about I take a peek and—"

"No!" Annabeth splayed her hands in the air, as if the motion alone could stop him from turning the last page and reading Seaweed Brain's inscription. "No, don't turn the page. Jackson, I swear to god if you turn it, I'll—I'll—"

"Stutter at me?" He grinned broadly, and she was again overcome with the strong temptation to throw something at him. "Don't worry, Chase. I have no interest in reading your diary entries. Just take a seat and we'll talk, one mature teenager to another. I'll even close the book."

She was tempted to storm off dramatically (which definitely proved her status as a mature teenager), but her sketchbook was still out of reach, and her backpack, which contained her laptop—and her only link to Seaweed Brain—was still in Percy's hand. And so, with a glower that would surpass even one of Clint Eastwood's characters, she slowly lowered herself onto the bench. Percy slid the gym-bag to the side, leaving the table as their only barrier.

They didn't speak for several moments: Percy ran a hand over the broken zipper as he examined it, while Annabeth stewed, arms crossed so tightly she could feel her circulation being cut off.

To her right, the window showed the sky darkening into dusk; street lamps spluttered to life, casting dim squares of light over the sidewalk and road. The only sound came from behind the shop's counter, where the boy and the girl (who had apparently won, judging by the marshmallows that peppered the boy's hair) were now flirting heavily as they counted the money in the tip jar, which clinked with every drop of a coin. The girl's eyes were sparkling. The boy was blushing as he sheepishly brushed marshmallows off his head.

Finally Percy said, "Do you want anything?"

"I want my sketchbook back. And my backpack."

"To eat," he clarified. "Do you want anything to eat?"

 _Clink. Clink. Clink._

"Obviously now, seeing as I haven't bought anything."

As if waiting for the perfect moment to interject, her stomach growled loudly. Her cheeks flushed.

Percy raised an eyebrow, then said, "Suit yourself," and turned to the counter. "Hey, Travis! Stop flirting with Katie and get me something blue, will you?"

The boy (presumably Travis) turned away from Katie and called, "You have working limbs, get it yourself. And I'm not flirting—it's called _talking._ It's friendly."

"Exactly," Katie echoed. "It's friendly."

Travis nodded knowingly, but then swooped down and landed a kiss Katie's cheek. She swatted his arm, but he danced out of the way, saying, "It was a _friendly_ kiss! You were just saying how friendly we were!"

"I meant us talking, you dolt!"

They absolved into bickering (which still sounded a lot like flirting) and left Percy staring at them disappointedly. "I'm assuming this means I'm not getting my frozen yogurt."

"You poor deprived child," Annabeth deadpanned. "Now, tell me what was so important that you decided to stalk me, steal my laptop, and trap me in a booth."

"I didn't stalk you. I just waited for you to leave school, followed you, and—okay, I see you point. There might have been some stalking involved."

"What do you want from me?"

Percy leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and tenting his fingers. "Annabeth Chase—"

"That is my name."

"I followed you to this frozen yogurt shop to inform you—"

"What pretentious wording. I'm practically shaking."

"Are you gonna let me finish or not?" Percy said, exasperated.

Annabeth blew a curl off her face and waved a hand. "Continue."

He stared at her suspiciously, waiting for an interruption. When none came, he continued. "I came here to say: you need to quit the swim team."

Annabeth scoffed.

"I'm serious! Go to Mr. D and tell him you can't do it. Say you can't swim, or that you have a phobia of water—hell, forge a doctor's note if you have to. Just get off my team."

"Are you under the impression that I _want_ to be on your team? I've never swam competitively, I hate pools, my swimming experience comes mainly from beaches, and the thought of you being my team captain is so nauseating I could barf."

"Exactly." He leaned back and spread his hands. "It's better for both of us if you leave. I won't have to struggle to keep us in the running for nationals because of an amateur like you, and you won't have to weigh us down with your ineptitude."

"Nationals?" she asked dumbly. "What are nationals?"

"What are—you don't know what nationals are?" Her face must have said it all; Percy sighed and covered his eyes with a hand. "This is insane. I'm talking to a swim team member who doesn't know what nationals are."

Behind the counter, Travis and Katie were throwing toppings at each other again. Their comments and occasional giggles dripped with flirtatious undertones.

A hand still covering his eyes, Percy said, "Nationals is a gathering of the best high school swimmers in the country. To qualify, you start with competitions between swim teams and then, if you make it past that, you move on to an individual game, where you're scored based on your time. If your overall score is good enough, they invite you to nationals. College scouts will be there. It's usually held in a big-name city, and the trip is funded by the school. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"Have you ever made it to nationals?"

He sighed and finally removed his hand. His eyes looked distant. "No. Nobody at our school has ever made it before." His gaze refocused on her. "That's why I can't have you messing up our chances—messing up _my_ chances. I need this."

Annabeth pressed her lips together. "Look, that sounds really cool, but like I said: you're stuck with me. There's nothing I can do."

"Yes, there is."

She knew what he was talking about: he wanted her to take the six months of detention instead—though knowing Mr. D, he'd probably find a way to extend it to her senior year. For a moment, she considered doing it; Percy would have his perfect swim team, and she would have six months or more of misery. But on the other hand…

She couldn't risk the consequences detention would give her. At best, it would waste valuable time and make her fall behind in school work. At worst, it would go on her permanent record—and if any college decided to check it and saw the six months of detention, coupled with whatever Mr. D tagged on, it would ruin whatever chances she had of getting a scholarship.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it, "but I can't do that. I can't let Mr. D shove me into months of undeserved detention. It's unjust. And I can't let that show on my record."

"Detention might shut you up," Percy murmured, so quiet she barely heard him.

"What did I ever do to you?" she demanded. "Why do you hate me so much?"

His sea-green eyes flicked up to meet hers, disbelieving. "You mean besides tape my locker shut and hot-glue my skateboard's wheels together? And anyway, it doesn't seem like you want to make friendship bracelets and braid each other's hair, either!"

"You dumped your lunch on me! And flipped me off!"

"Well, you were being a jerk, Chase. On your first day, I helped you, and all you did was yell at me in front of dozens of people."

There was a whoop of triumph; Travis had managed to catch Katie and, lifting her off her feet, spin her around. Katie's hair spiraled out like a halo as she threw her head back and laughed.

Annabeth sat back, her eyes still focused on Percy's. "I see what this is. You're upset because you played the hero—you caught the nerdy blonde, saved her from falling, and when she didn't thank you, you turned into a jerk. Why am I not surprised?"

Percy shook his head. "You're impossible."

"I'm right."

"No, you're not: I don't like you because you were an asshole, and because you continue to be a selfish asshole, and you've given me no reason to think that you have any other redeeming qualities!"

Ouch.

Annabeth's face drained of color. Percy must have known he'd gone too far, because he exhaled and ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. "Annabeth, I didn't mean—that didn't come out right."

Behind the counter, Katie had regained her footing. She immediately stood on tiptoe and, grabbing the front of Travis's shirt with both hands, reached up and kissed him.

When Annabeth spoke, her voice came out hollow and empty. "It doesn't matter."

And it didn't—because she knew he was right.

Percy was staring at her with the familiar expression that she had come to both expect and dread with people: lips pressed together, brow furrowed, eyes crinkled around the edges. With concern. Distress. With _goddamned sympathy_ for Annabeth, the poor girl with a disgraced father, an absent mother; the girl who was forced to leave her family and friends and school and move across the country, where she was left with _nothing._

Nothing.

And in that moment, Annabeth realized that she hated Percy Jackson with a scorching passion—because worse than insulting her or vandalizing her locker, he had given her something she couldn't fight: pity.

"Maybe I am a selfish asshole," she said slowly. Her fingers traced a mark in the wood: a heart with two carved letters inside. "Maybe I'm such a selfish asshole that I'd do my best to mess up your chances for making nationals."

Now it was Percy's turn to pale. "You wouldn't dare. Annabeth Chase, you would _not_ —"

"Why not?" She didn't even know what she was saying, didn't stop to think before she spoke; but if it was replacing Percy's pity with hard anger, then she must have been doing something right. "I don't have any other redeeming qualities, after all.

His eyes turned dark and cold. "So now you're threatening me."

"I…" For the first time, her words truly punctured through the haze over her mind. She groaned, pressing a hand to her temple. "Jackson, I didn't mean—"

"Oh, you meant it." He stood up and, slinging his gym-bag over his shoulder, tossed her the backpack. "But you know what?" He leaned forward, pressing his hands on the tabletop. "On the swim team, _I'm_ captain. I don't care if you've never swam competitively, or if you just moved this month—if you think you're going to mess up my chances for nationals, then I will _gladly_ make your life hell for every second you are on my team without deserving it. Got it?

She didn't even have time to respond before he spun around and stalked out the door, leaving only a cold gust of wind and the faint scent of saltwater behind.

Annabeth buried her face in her hands, wet curls tangling around her fingers. What had she been thinking? Threatening to sabotage his chances for nationals? What kind of vengeful move was that? She tried to tell herself that she hadn't meant it, that it was said in a moment of anger and so the words had no meaning, but a part of her—however small— knew that she had.

Percy was right: she was a selfish asshole.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she picked up the sketchbook from across the table and opened her backpack (and realized with a jolt of guilt that Percy had fixed the zipper). She slid it inside, nestling it between her laptop and a blue flyer for the swim team she had picked up after school that day.

Katie and Travis didn't look up as she departed. They kept on kissing, Katie's arms wrapped around his neck, Travis's hands resting gently on her waist. Annabeth didn't spare them a glance as she trudged out into the cold November air, where she was immediately pummeled with the lashing sheets of rain once more.

* * *

 **Kindly share your thoughts in a comment—I love hearing from you guys, and reviewers always hold a special place in my heart. I will cherish anything from a smiley face to long-winded thoughts about scenes and writing. :)**

 **Responses to last chapter's reviews are posted on my profile—and may I just say that I love you all! What did I ever do to deserve such kind and sweet readers? May you live long, find happiness, fall in love, read the perfect book, and eat expensive chocolate. (The blessing will be passed on to the reviewers for this chapter too lol.) ;) But seriously, y'all are awesome.**

 **Also...I just had to kill the biggest and most scary spider in existence. It was big. And black. And scary. I have a newfound respect for Annabeth's bravery following the Mark of Athena. Anyway...I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight...I'm, like, freaking out. So...yeah.**

 **One more thing (in this way too long A/N): I finally got a Tumblr writing blog up! You can find me as** _ **writing-and-guacamole;**_ **I have a lot of OTP au prompts up right now, and I have some upcoming Percabeth one-shots that I'll be posting on that blog. Feel free to check it out. :)**


	6. Author's Note:

**Author's Note:**

 ***peeks out from under the rock I've been hiding beneath for the past few months***

 **...Hi.**

 ***cautiously clambers onto solid ground and grabs microphone***

 **An** **announcement: I'm putting this story on hiatus. I haven't written anything for it in months; I don't feel motivated to write anything for it right now; and I've started writing other stories that I feel much more inspired by.** **I will probably return to this story someday, but for now I am taking an official break.**

 **Thank you all SO MUCH for your follows, favorites, and lovely reviews. I adore each and every one of your comments, and I have squealed happily DOZENS of times while reading them.**

 **Cheers,**

 **guacamole lover :)**


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